Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) (40 page)

There in the main yard was Peter of Oxford, Chaplain to the Queen, strolling along happily, taking great bites
from a loaf of bread which he had broken in two, one half in each hand.

‘Aha, Sir Baldwin! It is a delight to see you again. And your good friend, Bailiff Puttock. To what do I owe this pleasure, I wonder. Perhaps you want to come and investigate another poor corpse in my chapel, eh?’

‘Is the poor woman buried?’

‘Well, she’s not in my chapel any more. I think that her mortal remains are to be taken to her parents’ home in the wilds of Middlesex, somewhere called Iseldone, far to the north of our fair city and this thorny little isle.’

‘We were not here to see her again,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘Rather, we are keen to speak to Lady Eleanor – but the guard on the gate to the cloister there is particularly scrupulous in his duties. He has been ordered not to let us pass, and will not suffer us to even pass a message to her.’

‘Why do you want to speak with her?’

‘Why do you think? We are seeking the murderer of Mabilla, and to do so, we must question all those who might know something about her death.’

‘You think that the Lady may be able to tell you something?’ the Chaplain asked with a smile. ‘I have to warn you that generally, she is less than communicative when it may be something that reflects badly on her husband.’

‘This has little to do with him, I think,’ Baldwin said. ‘It is more likely to have a bearing on her.’

‘I don’t think I understand you.’

‘Did you know that the dead woman was herself spying on the Queen
and
on Eleanor?’

The Chaplain’s smile faded. ‘What! Who could have asked her to do that?’

‘You tell me,’ Baldwin said sourly. ‘Not only that, Mabilla was used by someone to spy upon others as well. In particular, she was used to tease the Earl of Kent and try to learn what was going on in his mind.’

‘Ah – which would be why I had heard that he and she were not happy together in each other’s company,’ the Chaplain nodded. ‘I begin to understand.’

‘So you see why I would wish to speak with the lady herself? I want to learn what she can tell me about the woman Mabilla.’

‘I can understand that, yes. But if you are sure, why not simply tell the King about the matter? He would soon be able to extract any information he needed.’

Baldwin winced. That was one suggestion he could never agree to. He had heard too many stories of the tortures to which his comrades in the Templars were subjected, to ever permit something remotely similar to be inflicted upon another man or woman. The sight of Arch rolling in his own blood and vomit had shown the futility of torture to extract a confession. ‘I would prefer not to see that.’

‘Well, if you want to do everything the hard way, I’ll see what I can do for you,’ the Chaplain said. ‘But it will take a little time. Wait in the Green Yard. I’ll speak to my Lady Eleanor, and either I’ll be there to see you, or I’ll have someone else come to speak with you.’

Piers de Wrotham watched the Despenser walk away in the direction of the stables, and smiled slyly to himself.
There were times when he wondered whether he was being a fool, and many, many others when all he could think was that the world was filled with idiots, apart from himself.

Here he was, a simple fellow, who was being paid, fed and clothed by my Lord the Earl of Kent, while at the same time Sir Hugh was paying him handsomely to pass on certain snippets of information, or to persuade his master to behave in such and such a way. In the past, it was a matter of manipulating the Earl to act in such a manner as would ruin his military reputation. Now it was a matter of feeding him certain convictions about his future behaviour. If he spoke out in favour of having the Queen sent to France, Earl Edmund would be thwarting Sir Hugh,
in theory
– except that Piers knew as well as Sir Hugh that to have Isabella removed from the court, potentially allowing her to defect to her brother, the King of France, would leave the King depending still more upon the advice of Sir Hugh. At least, that was what Piers reckoned the Despenser wanted. It made sense.

He crossed the yard towards a large wooden hall where there was a little bar set up. An enterprising woman from King Street had brewed too much ale, and she was there now, selling quarts of a good brew. Piers took one and settled to drinking.

Life today looked good.

Except when he looked up after a short while, he saw his other master, the Earl of Kent, at the gateway to the Green Yard, and caught sight of the expression on his face.

It was enough to sour his ale.

Sir Hugh left Piers with no easing of the frustration he had felt all day. Ellis was nowhere to be seen just now, nor was Pilk. Useless arses, the pair of them! Since he’d had that chat with Sir Baldwin, he’d been struck with a sense of urgency.

He’d managed to speak to Bishop Stapledon, and the good Bishop had promised his help. Oh yes, he’d promised. But that wasn’t really good enough. Stapledon should have come and told Sir Hugh as soon as the indenture had been given to him. It had been a shock, to hear about it from Sir Baldwin. Sir Hugh would have expected a ‘friend’ to let him know as soon as it turned up. Still, the fact that it had been given to the Bishop for safe-keeping was good. It was under lock and key now.

Still no sign of Ellis. The Despenser ground his teeth. Here he was, unsure when another blow might fall, and his man had disappeared! It was quite intolerable! He and Pilk had better make themselves more useful, or they would learn that neither was indispensable. There were plenty of men who’d be happy to remove them to take their places at Despenser’s side. And just now Sir Hugh would be happy to receive their replacements.

The Chaplain was as good as his word, and soon he returned, holding a skin of wine and three wooden cups. ‘I thought you looked like men who would appreciate a little drink.’

‘We thank you, most sincerely,’ Simon said. He jealously watched the wine being poured and all but drained his cup in one draught. ‘I often find that investigations can be thirsty work,’ he said hopefully, and was reassured to see his cup refilled.

Baldwin glanced at him. There was one question which still troubled him about this Chaplain. ‘Tell me, when I mentioned your name to the Bishop of Exeter, he was not fulsome in your praise.’

Peter was still for a moment, and then he gave a short shrug. ‘He does not like me. I was a failure for a while. Until Drokensford rescued me.’

‘How so?’

Peter grunted. ‘I have no need of secrets from you. I was a priest in a hellish little hole in Kent, far from any civilisation. There I fell in love with a woman. The wife of my patron, and we ran away together. We hoped … well, we intended to escape Kent and
England and find a new life in France.’

‘You were captured, though.’

Peter could see that moment again. Waking beside his lovely Margaret to see Sir Walter above him, sword in hand. Peter had escaped only by a whisker, but she was killed by that blow, and Peter had taken the sword and thrust it again and again into Sir Walter’s breast. They found him there at noon, still cradling her dead body. And then he was sent to the Bishop’s gaol until Bishop Drokensford found another little job for him.

‘My Lord Bishop thought that I would be the perfect man to help our Queen. I dislike seeing women caged,’ he said after a moment. And the Bishop kept a close eye on him to make sure he didn’t seduce Isabella, too, he thought. Seeing a flash of colour, he looked up. Ah, here she is,’ Peter said.

Turning, Simon and Baldwin saw the Lady Eleanor crossing the yard. She looked pale. But having witnessed the murder of her servant, it was scarcely surprising that she was wan, Simon thought.

‘My Lady, I am grateful indeed that you could spare us a little of your time,’ Baldwin said.

She nodded, but to Simon she seemed barely aware of the courtesy. To him, she appeared so enwrapped in her own thoughts that the real world could scarcely intrude. ‘Peter told me that you might have information that could help me?’ she said.

‘I fear there can be little comfort for you,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But you would hardly expect that in this court, would you?’

She said nothing, but a slight fluttering gesture of her
hand, like the beating of a butterfly’s wings, appeared to confirm his guess.

‘I shall not attempt to conceal anything from you, my Lady. I feel it is best to tell you what we have heard, so that you are forewarned.’

‘Please do.’

Baldwin glanced at Peter, who began. ‘Very well, my Lady. Mabilla, we have heard, was the brother of Ellis, your husband’s henchman. She was also, we have recently been told, an especial spy for your husband.’

‘No. No, that can’t be right!’ Eleanor said with a shake of her head. ‘He wouldn’t need another in the Queen’s household. He knew I was always there.’

‘Lady, I fear it is true.’ Baldwin’s tone was calm, but relentless. ‘She not only spied on the Queen, but … on
others
, too.’

As the Lady Eleanor grasped his meaning, her complexion became quite waxen, the colour of a church candle, and Simon moved closer to her, fearing that she might faint.

‘I do not wish to upset you,’ Baldwin said, but now his voice had changed. Instead of the confident retailing of the story, he began to sound quite wretched as he took in her appearance.

‘Continue, I pray,’ she said.

As Peter passed her a filled cup of wine, Baldwin obeyed, clearing his throat.

‘We know that she was used to spy on Earl Edmund of Kent, for example. When he came back from Guyenne, he was desolate after the shameful truce he had agreed with Charles Valois. Mabilla’s apparent
kindness to him persuaded him that she was interested in him, and he tried to force her to lie with him. However, she had no intention of sleeping with him and gaining a reputation for unchastity purely for your husband’s benefit, so she rejected him. It confused him greatly, I think. To this day, I believe he doesn’t understand why she refused him.’

‘So Earl Edmund killed her?’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘No. Why should he do that? If he had been that upset, he might have stabbed at her when he thought she was insulting him, but not weeks later. No, I do not think so.’

‘No,’ she said bitterly. ‘You think it must be my husband, don’t you?’

Baldwin was silent. At moments like this, when someone was considering betraying all that they had held dear for many years, it was best to let them speak at their own speed. But when she spoke, her frankness shocked him. He was unused to such glacial anger, even from women whose men had foully mistreated them.

‘I am sure it was him,’ she spat. ‘He always wanted other things, other women. And men. I was never good enough, you see. I was adequate at first, because I brought him valuable property in Wales, but now he’s built up his own estates he scarcely needs me.’

‘You cannot think he intended to kill you?’ Simon said.

‘What would
you
think, master?’ she demanded. ‘He sends an assassin to kill me, and he killed Mabilla by mistake.’

‘Lady,’ Baldwin said, ‘I think you are wrong. If he had wanted you to die, he would have ensured that his man killed you.’

‘But Alicia pushed herself before me. She protected me – and the Queen, of course.’

‘One woman? No, if the assassin wished to kill you, he would have pushed all the ladies-in-waiting from his path. Just as, if he had intended to kill the Queen, he could have done so. No, I think that he was there to kill one person and one person only: Mabilla.’

‘You do not know my husband.’

‘I think I know him well enough, Lady. What advantage would your death bring him? Money? Power? Land? No, nothing.’

‘What would he gain from Mabilla’s death?’

Baldwin had to shrug in defeat at that. ‘It is very difficult to think of anyone who could have had a motive to kill her. The man whom you saw that night – I do not suppose you recognised him?’

‘No. His mask was enough to strike terror into my heart, and when I saw the knife, I lost all will. I just stared at it. Pathetic, but I could do nothing else!’

‘The man did not have a candle, though,’ Simon said.

‘I … no, he cannot have. If he had, I should have seen the light as we walked along the corridor.’

‘Was there the scent of a snuffed candle?’ Simon pressed her.

‘No, nothing.’

‘So he must have known his way about the palace in the dark, surely?’

Baldwin and Peter were both frowning at him. It was Baldwin who nodded slowly, and murmured, ‘A very good point, Simon.’

‘He must have been someone who knew the passageways as well as knowing where the Queen would be,’ Simon said.

‘Did she walk along that corridor at the same time every night?’ Baldwin asked.

‘The same time?’ Eleanor gave a sharp little laugh without humour. ‘She would have us up at all hours of the evening. She has needed the consolation of her priest every night since … well, since her children were taken from her.’

‘We have heard about that,’ Baldwin said, and his tone was colder.

Simon was still thinking about the corridor where Mabilla had died. ‘That means it could have been anyone in the Palace guard.’

‘Or someone who bribed a guard to learn where she might be,’ Peter offered helpfully.

‘True,’ Baldwin agreed.

Eleanor put in, ‘It could have been one of my husband’s men, too. I told him all about the Queen’s nocturnal wanderings. Any of his men could have overheard. No doubt Mabilla could have done, too.’

‘What of the assassin himself – the man found murdered, this Jack atte Hedge?’ Baldwin said. ‘Did you know him?’

‘The name is known to me.’

‘There is no need to be wary,’ Simon said bluntly. ‘We found one of your husband’s horses at the inn where Jack
was living. The innkeeper told us it was the horse which Jack rode in on.’

She let her head fall a little. ‘Yes, I think Jack atte Hedge was a man whom my husband knew. They would meet occasionally. Only occasionally, though. Not often.’

‘How often would your husband have had need of a murderer?’ Baldwin asked pointedly. ‘This man Jack – do you know whether he was used to kill many people?’